


The Art of Patchwork

by pinkhairnatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Caring Dean Winchester, Domestic, Heavy Angst, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Past Abuse, Past Balthazar/Castiel (Supernatural), Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Dean Winchester, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkhairnatural/pseuds/pinkhairnatural
Summary: Cas doesn't appreciate being coddled. But then the new neighbor moves in next door and Cas is being treated to pies, random kisses on the porch and breakfast in bed.It’s all good though. He thinks that he's earned the right to enjoy his remaining time with this perfect stranger... as long as this stranger doesn't know about his carefully hidden cuts here and there,Or about what he's planned for himself later on..
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural), Castiel & Meg Masters, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. "Is it Moving Day already?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all,  
> This gets a bit dark. Cas isn't really in a good place in the story. I have tried to keep it at least partially light but then words just type themselves. Of course there is light at the end of the tunnel and a few lampposts to ease the way as well. But, you're being forewarned. 
> 
> TW: Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, references to Depression. 
> 
> Major chunk of the story is already done. I'll try to be fairly regular. I apologize for any errors. Second language.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This uncertainty – it should’ve been sufficient to throw me into anxiety. But it surprisingly hasn’t... Instead, there is this calm. It’s not exactly peaceful though,
> 
> Perhaps it’s what they call being numb.”

I missed my deadline. Again. Saying that there were too many things going on would be a lie. There was nothing going on. Except that constant ringing in my head, of course. But I’ve gotten used to the ringing. I should’ve been better. But I sat there and did nothing about it.

It's not like there was someone physically holding me back from typing on a freaking laptop. But in the end, I still sat there and did nothing. I completely understand that this was my fault. This place in the middle where I’m stuck, it’s my fault. This place of... _uncertainty_... of not knowing. There is no other justification or rather excuse to it. Although, Meg will hear none of it... I know the exact words that will come out of her mouth. 

“Fucking stop this, Clarence. You know this is not your fault. There are psychological factors at play here. Even my dumb ass knows that. Fucking put your education to some use, you absolute moron! You were never this stupid to blame it on yourself. Come on, look at me. It wasn’t you who fucked it all up, okay. If Gabe was here, he would’ve-“

“But he’s not, is he?”

She hates it when I am so calm. Sometimes she tries to start random fights with me, provoking me constantly, hoping I’ll react like I used to before... things changed. And I know that she’s not completely wrong. But the truth still stands. I could’ve changed the situation. And I didn’t. It wasn’t beyond my control. Nothing is ever completely out of our control. But I still did nothing. So, it kind of does fall on me to some extent, doesn’t it?

“Clarence, it was _his_ fault. You cannot blame yourself when it was _he_ who fucked up. Our lives, our family, our jobs. It Was Not Your Fault.”

I have never been particularly good at confrontations. The dichotomy of flight-or-fight has never concerned me much – I am the flight-guy all the way. Meg knows this. She has always been my companion when I needed to run away. She was always there to provide the necessary assistance in my midnight escape plans which started from my window and ended at her bedroom door after nights that were more hurtful than others. She would never ask anything on those nights and just pull me under her green fluffy comforter. On those rare occasions when she did ask questions, I wasn’t very forthcoming in my responses. So, she eventually stopped asking and continued just being there. She knows she wouldn’t get her answers. Not from me, at least. So, I don’t feel that bad lying to her face. My acquired skill of poker-face helps too. 

“I was talking about my deadlines, Meg.”

*******

Everything feels kind of stuck. More so than usual. It isn’t, though. It’s all moving constantly, of course. Things. People... It’s me who’s stuck in-between. There’s this perpetual state of.. not knowing. And this uncertainty – it should’ve been sufficient to throw me into a state of anxiety. But, surprisingly, it hasn’t. I should’ve been flighty, nervous or maybe just active.. in some manner. But I am not. 

Instead, there is this calm. It’s not exactly peaceful. Well, maybe it is. What the heck do I know?

Perhaps it’s the state of being numb. Professionals say this may be the seeds of depression. It could very well be. I won’t argue with their degrees, of course. It’s not that I haven’t reached out or sought help. I have. But there was no one. I am not someone who reaches out usually. And then when I did, two of my appointments got cancelled, because of “factors beyond our control” or simply put Expert’s unavailability. I was disheartened and I knew that I was being petty – that the whole world does not revolve around me. If I was so much in need, I should’ve booked myself a real appointment with a medical professional instead of anonymously reaching out to an internet expert on some free-mental-help-services-online-portal. It was rather cowardly of me. 

Tending to the garden helps, of course. I have always been called anti-social because I spend way too much time on my plants. Bal used to say that the garden came in my life before anyone else and that’s why I was always worried if Gabe was adequately taking care of the plants while Bal and I were out on our long weekends together. Personally, I believe it’s the other way round. I turned to the garden after.. things changed. It gave me peace, so I stayed. 

It’s not so peaceful right now, though. Why do people buy such monster cars that look like a boat and sound like a tractor? I was aware that it was Moving Day in Mr. Turner’s old house but, can my new neighbor be more discreet? Oh, well. I think I’ll need to greet the person and smile perhaps. That is still the proper course of action for new neighbors, I believe. Okay. It’s easy. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in-

“Heya, neighbor!”

It’s a man. A beautiful man. Men are not generally beautiful. Not in the conventional sense, at least. But this man is an exceptional specimen of a symmetrical face. And eyes.. green. 6 ft. or taller, perhaps. Broad shoulders. Maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He will easily be able to overpower me. I need to stay on my guard. I should inform Meg as soon as possible too. She’ll be furious if she found out that I hid something like this from her again. For the love of all that is holy, I do not want to join another one of Lisa’s self-defence classes. She’s a kind woman, of course, but one can only take so much yoga-bending in a freaking self-defence class.

“Sorry if I got in the way, man. Just moved in next door. Thought I’ll come over to say hi. So, Hi!”

“Hello.”

“Uh, it’s Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel.”

“Nice garden by the way. You did it yourself?”

“Thanks. Yes, I did.” 

“Awesome! You should gimme some suggestions, man. I need to tend to my overgrown bushes over there. Heh.”

He’s smiling weirdly again. Is that.. a blush? Oh, he's uncomfortable. So, standard behavior for someone trying to engage me in conversation. I think his people skills are even rustier than mine.

“O..kay?”

“Uh.. okay, I’ll see you around, man. Enjoy.. uh, yeah bye.”

“Um.. Dean?”

“Yeah!!”

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Cas!”

I am not sure why he’s smiling. I think my reciprocating smile was more genuine this time so he’s grinning even more widely now. Did his eyes just light up? Anyway, it’s a decent smile. I should inform Meg immediately though. And prepare for the upcoming self-defence classes.


	2. "Is this for me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s become a habit now. I’ll pretend to be Dean’s normal neighbor here on my porch. Having meaningless conversations.. unnecessary smiles.. pointless discussions about albums I’ve never heard.. and then him cleaning the crumbs from my lower lip,
> 
> He doesn’t need to know that I had a blade in my hand when he rang the doorbell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: References to Self-harm, Suicidal Thoughts

Steve has become sort of a permanent fixture in my house ever since he was adopted by Charlie 8 months ago. He’s a chocolate French Bulldog whose uninterested face rivals that of Meg’s. Charlie lives just down the street so it’s no issue for Steve to come find me whenever she annoys him with her cheery human self.

Steve enjoys peace and quiet... Or at least that’s what I think he enjoys, seeing as he doesn’t seek out the porch of Mrs. Tran (perhaps for the fear of being shouted at, like Kevin), or the door of Ash’s dungeon aka lair aka perpetually dark apartment (perhaps for the fear of consuming unwanted elixirs), or even the lawn of Dea…Mr. Winchester, who constantly blares noisy lyrics or in other words loud yelling accompanied by a buzzing sound. Bal told me in college that it’s what they call a Bass Guitar.

Mr. Winchester has been my neighbor for a little over a month now and I have tried diligently to accept his lifestyle. But it’s just so.. _noisy_. And he lives right next door.. that does not help anyone, certainly not me. I have tried to mind my work but at some point it becomes rather impossible to do so when there are continued visits of different girls or even two at a time or the occasional buff guys, and here I am on work-from-home basis, painstakingly _trying_ to focus on the darn laptop screen. Other than his fairly regular sexual escapades, it’s the music (if you can call it that) which I am made subject to.. daily.

It’s Absolute Pandemonium!

And then there’s the fact that he’s seemed to be loved by everyone.. Of course such a vibrant and beautiful human being such as himself is bound to be socially accepted rather quickly.

But the noise.. It’s a problem. Charlie has called me ‘an old hag’ on multiple occasions. Personally, I do not take offence at that. However, I refuse to apologize for valuing my sleep schedule.

This is the reason I highly appreciate my time with Steve right now. He’s quiet. It’s peaceful, sitting here with him. Perhaps being grumpy together. Perhaps silently being envious of the ease with which Mr. Winchester leads his life. Steve and I have an understanding. He does not require my constant affection.. He takes the occasional pat and of course inhales the chicken. No words needed. 

This was when Mr. Winchester decided to disrupt another one of my quiet afternoon with his loud shriek..? Oh, he sounds scared.. Is everything oka-

“Noooo... No no no no, come back, good boy.. Who’s a good boy, you’re a good boy. Giz, don’t. No! Hey!! _Bad dog_. Down. Down. _Nooo.._ ”

Is Mr. Winchester trying to walk Gizmo? She’s Kevin’s black and brown Yorkie-Poo and she does _Not_ take kindly to being given instructions. Oh, Dean is bad at this. Does he not know she’s a little monster who takes pleasure in other’s misery? Oh, this could be a prank by Kevin. Huh. Funny. 

“Look Giz.. man, try to work with me here, okay, see I.. Oh, Heya Cas!”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Uh, Kevin asked. Good kid. Had an exam coming. So, I said yeah sure, why not. I am a big.. dog friendly human.. friend of dogs.. dog man.. Uh, I like dogs. Yeah.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, I’ll see ya later, man! Gotta walk the dog! Come on Gizzie Gizzie girl.. Okay, leave little Stevie alone big girl. _Giizz.._ ”

I unsuccessfully tried not to smile at his shenanigans, but it is rather difficult to hold back your emotions when you experience with your own eyes a 6 ft. tall man being bodily dragged by a Yorkie-Poo..

*******

Dean is kind of a doof. And I mean that respectfully. His happy self is at times.. _exhausting_. Much like Charlie. But, I have gotten used to her. It will still take time for me to be used to this man. Although he’s been living here for three months now, he’s still practically a stranger. 

He’s gorgeous of course. The definition of a man’s man – tall, strong, broad shoulders, with that monstrous car and a wrench in hand, working out on his lawn. But then twice a month he will come out of his home in an apron to offer pies to the neighbors.

I haven’t met many men who go around from house to house and offer desserts. He claims that he made them. I am inclined to believe him seeing the flour in his sandy brown hair.

The first time he came to offer me some, I could not help but smile and accept them – they _were_ quite good. And Dean’s green eyes were so sincere and his smile so infectious that you want to be your happy self in front of him.

It has become a habit now. It’s easier this way. I will pretend to be his normal neighbor here on my porch. Having simple meaningless conversations, unnecessary smiles, pointless discussions (or rather him monologue-ing) about albums I’ve never heard, and then him cleaning the crumbs from my lower lip... Dean’s an incorrigible flirt. The whole neighborhood knows that. It’s another sense of normalcy that I am fortunate to have here talking to him – the fact that he considers me among his list of flirt-worthy neighbors.

He doesn’t need to know that I was cutting myself in the bath when the doorbell rung.

It’s not a big deal though. Just part of the so-called coping mechanism perhaps. People might think that it makes you feel like you are floating. It is the exact opposite for me, actually. It’s the ordinary days which make me feel like I am floating.. like I am not _here_.. merely a witness to the world passing by. But the hurt.. It grounds me, the hurt. Stops my mind from drifting to another plane of existence. It centers me, in a manner. 

And it’s not like my thighs are going to be on display anytime soon. Neither am I getting laid “left, right and center” here – contrary to what Dean believes. He’s called Meg my girlfriend multiple times now.

I believe there’s no point to disagreeing. Meg would disagree though. She’s insistent on finding me a suitable date. She’s even asked me on a threesome with her and her current-boyfriend. I told her I believe it’s rather a hassle – so complicated, what goes where, what are the rules of conduct. She just laughs and says there are none. I cannot say yes to that! It will be chaos for Pete's sake!

Dean is pretty adamant on leaving me two big slices. I am not sure I am capable of finishing them both even if given a week to do so. I told him that I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. Not like Dean, of course. But he doesn’t listen. His little brother’s got straight A’s (again), so Dean is,

“..not gonna hear any excuses, Cas.”

Well, if that’s how the cookie crumbles... At least I will have something sweet to look forward to at the end of the day. Until this week ends..

There are times when I feel inadequate to compliment Dean... Gabe used to cook. He had the appropriate skill and knowledge to properly appreciate this pie. He would’ve loved Dean’s baking. He used to make these obnoxiously sweet desserts and make a mess of not just the kitchen but the whole house..

Oh, well. At least I don’t have to cleanup his messes anymore. 


	3. "Oh Mama, don’t fuss over me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all happened so suddenly and then there Meg was. My Hero. My Saviour. My Knight... The reason why I have no agency..
> 
> And she immediately took me to be the victim that I was... that I am. 
> 
> Of course, I am grateful for having Meg in my life.. but, there are times when these people who love me so, they make me feel.. Less. Inferior. Incapable. Helpless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,  
> It’s a rather bleak chapter and there’s a bit of a descriptive dive into Cas's mind about self-harm towards the end, so if you don’t wish to read that, please avoid the part in between ~ and ~. There’s also a summarized version at the end, in case you wish to avoid the whole thing. 
> 
> TW: References to Past Sexual Abuse, Depiction of Self-harm, Suicidal Thoughts.
> 
> Also, the title of the chapter is taken from ‘Cherry Wine’ by Hozier, a song very close to my heart. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Pink

I am grateful for having met Meg at the age of 7. She has always been my pocket dynamite that I can unleash on anyone at any point of time and she’ll happily oblige. Her streak of violence mixed with a little bit of insanity compliments my placid modus operandi rather beautifully. Sometimes it felt like having my own personal bully to let loose on those who tried the same with me in school. And then later in life, she never stopped fulfilling that role. Even today, Meg’s the closest thing to family I have left.

This is why I almost readily agreed to set foot outside of my four walled world and go to her birthday party. It wasn’t her who insisted though. Meg knows me. It was Mike - her current-boyfriend, who wanted to surprise her by having her best friend of almost two decades be there for her 26th. It was rather sweet really.

I can do at least this much for her when she’s been fighting my battles all her life.

***

Well, I can’t really complain about the noise here, can I? If Meg knew about me coming, she would’ve preferred a.. less rowdy place for the celebration, but since it is a ‘surprise’, I should keep mum and just _be there..._ like she has been, for me, all her life. 

But I couldn’t even do that, could I?

It wasn’t _really_ outright harassment or assault. It was just her current-boyfriend being drunk and "jokingly" touching me, as claimed by him. Although I admit the ‘touch’ was rather thorough and unwanted, but I don’t really know about ins-and-outs of modern day club-dancing. I am an educated person and this is in no way shifting the blame, but I still believe Meg reacted rather harshly to the.. incident. Well, perhaps my degree of a ‘normal touch’ is different than the socially acceptable standards of ‘normal’.

I have never been particularly good at understanding what exactly the socially acceptable standards of normalcy are..

Oh well, I did my best to explain to Meg that it was no big deal and she should calm down, but the sudden breathing problems were not really working in my favor. The next few minutes are all a blur and all I remember is being led to a cab and the next minute I was outside my garden. Meg didn’t accompany me. She wanted to stay to deal with the mess... it’s a euphemism. She waited for me to leave so she could ‘deal’ with him and then break up.

I know I shouldn’t, but I am still feeling apologetic for ruining her night. And even for Mike to some extent... The guy probably isn’t such a “douche-bag”. And it’s not like he forced himself on me. I know what _that_ feels like, at least. Well aware of the nuances of _those_ touches, I am... having had years of practice and experience.

Not to play the devil’s advocate, here... but he did claim it was “harmless flirting” and I understand where he’s coming from. Mike had seen how Meg behaves with me and how she jokingly throws the word ‘threesome’ around. I know that she does that as a joke because I know Meg and Meg _knows_ me. But, Mike doesn’t. Not even close.

So, when he took the liberty to say certain things and touch, that too in her absence... that liberty was not appreciated by Meg... which is also understandable. Arguing with yourself in your own head. This is rather difficult.

_I don’t like conflict._

***

So, here I am, back in my four walled world, sitting in the quiet living room, away from all those.. loud noises and blaring lights and sparkly drinks and unknown hands... This is not to say that I am not grateful for having Meg. 

Of course, I am grateful for having Meg in my life..

But, there are times.. when these people who love me so, they make me feel.. _Less. Inferior. Incapable. Helpless_... I am not claiming that Meg’s assistance was never needed in the two decades that we’ve spent together.

It’s just that, sometimes, I... like speaking for myself maybe, handling myself maybe, not being babied all the time... By Meg. By Gabe. By Bal. 

Of course I love these three very much and there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for them, even though one of them did turn out to be quite.. not what they claimed to be. But I still learned valuable life lessons from Bal, even if he was a “cheating asshole” and a “slimy dickwad” as adjudged generously by Meg and Gabe respectively. 

It just feels like I was robbed of my voice today.

I think I wanted to be angry at Mike.. and I didn’t get the chance to do that. No one listened to me. No one let me get my anger out. I wanted to... _shout_. To be loud. To remove those hands from my hips. To be assertive, perhaps. But I wasn’t given the opportunity to do that.. to _be_ that. I wasn’t given the time. I recognize that it’s an ironic statement to make. Well, I am funny like that.

It all happened so suddenly and then there Meg was. My Hero. My Savior. My Knight...

The reason why I have no agency... 

And she immediately took me to be the _victim_ that I was... that I _am_. 

I know that I am not being fair to Meg right now. She loves me with everything she has. She has defended me for almost all her life now. She had the guts to stand up to Mother for me when even I couldn’t look Mother in the eyes for being.. _Me_. She has been there... constantly. Even when Gabe left. Even when Gabe chose to leave. Of course, I’m grateful to have her. 

But at times it’s just.. exhausting. _Suffocating_.

This dealing with people thing.. trying to make them understand what I want.. and when..

What exactly am I supposed to say to her? That I wanted the opportunity to shout at someone? That I wanted to be the aggressive one, for once? That I wanted to be the one to push _him_ away? That I don’t need her to save me, _every fucking time_?

_That_ would have been quite thankless. And just petty and childish.

Even right now, thinking that it’s Meg’s fault that I’ve got no control over things or anything for that matter.. That is also petty and childish.

But I still cannot shake off this persistent feeling of just being.. _there_. Of just.. _being_. Witnessing things happening – to other people, and to me, mostly to me. There is this sense of having no handle whatsoever on either the actions or their consequences. It’s like being subject to _their_ rules, _their_ whims, _their_ world… going along with a game designed for me, by them.

It is somehow similar to being driven to an unknown destination while being blindfolded, gagged and utterly bound. It doesn’t really matter who is in the driving seat. Either way it’s going to be me who’s bereft of their senses, who’s not in charge of _anything_ , who’s helpless, who’s... the _victim_. 

Although the only person who’s going to bear the actual consequences is me..

This feeling.. it’s not good. 

I need to stop these wayward thoughts and try to refocus here. Yes. What do I need? What can I do? Okay. I could go see Steve... No. Can’t either hold a conversation about some alien-wars or deal with Charlie’s cheery self right now. Could tend to the garden... No. Someone might come and try to.. _talk_. Can’t do that. Not now. Focus. Could just sit here and listen to.. Dean’s playing rather somber music today than usual, unlike the regular shouty ones... which means he’s working in the kitchen right now, probably baking another one of his delicacies.. not working on his monster-car. But,

No.

Going outside would involve too much work. Interaction. Conversation. Eye contact. People. Being a normal neighbor... Just _being_. The music isn’t helping either. I can’t listen to this anymore. I should.. yes, close the window. Latch it. Lock everything. Lock the outside, outside. It’s safe in here. It’s silent. Calm. I can think clearly in here. I can even listen to my own breathing.

It’s shaky. This is not good.

Oh, my hands are trembling as well... breathe in, breathe out, breathe in... this is not helping. Should... Should I call Meg... **_NO._** Definitely not... breathe in, breathe out, breathe in..

~

I didn’t notice my feet carrying me down the hallway to the bathroom door. It’s muscle memory now. This is easy. No thinking involved. I turn the doorknob. Get inside. Close the door behind me. Reach the mirror and look at myself. I don’t look very well. My hair’s a mess more so than usual. There’s that familiar burn in my chest right now. And of course the hands..

With trembling hands, I open the cabinet and clumsily try to get the required stuff out. My fingers are shaking though, so a few bottles drop outside and there’s a loud smash. Oh, was that made of glass? Why do I have it in here? Damn it. This is going to take a bit of a time for the cleanup. I can focus on that later though. I keep the stuff on the counter and… look at myself again.. breathe in, breathe out. I blink slowly. This should help. It usually does. It’s okay. 

As expected, getting them out has already started to help with the shaking and the breathing. It always does. Centers me. Grounds me. This is okay. I look at myself again, and start to strip slowly. I touch my throat gingerly, slide my hands down the chest, let my fingers skim the waist, then glide them down the lower hips.. where _he_ touched. Then I lean on the counter. It would’ve been better sitting but there’s glass all over the floor now and I am not ready yet for the serious damage it might cause and the ensuing shots. So, it’s better this way. Quick. Efficient. Cleanup is going to be onerous anyway.

So, I lean on the counter and take the blade in my hand.. breathe in, breathe out.. I spread my legs, shift the feet so they are horizontally placed and I have ample access... breathe in, breathe out.. I feel my inner thighs, trace my fingers, no longer trembling, over the scars.. some look rather ancient, others quite fresh.. I find a suitable spot, previously unmarked,

And I start.

~ 

Soon after though there’s a loud sound of the doorbell ringing. Sigh. Just needed _some_ peace. It could be Meg, back from her now ex-boyfriend. But I can’t let her in. I can’t let anyone in. Just some _time_ , I need. People.. I can’t. Especially not Meg. Oh, the trembling has started again. This is not good. May be if I don’t answer the door, the person will assume that I’m asleep and go away. I _am_ asleep a lot actually so it’s not a far-fetched assumption to make, really. But the doorbell hasn’t stopped ringing. Instead whoever it was has started banging on the door now. Are they.. Are they breaking the door open..?

The loud sound jolts me and I find myself slipping on the linoleum and oh, that was sharp.. was that the broken bottle..? Oh, come on! My hand.. the wrist, it’s.. It’s a bit hazy now, my vision. Oh, well. It’s not like I haven’t dreamed about doing this to myself, some day. But, not today. Not in an accident. It’s hilarious, actually. 

Woah, the linoleum looks positively ghastly now.. Oh, Jesus! I’m going to abhor the cleanup.

I hear my name being called. Oh, that’s not what you call "calling", the person needs to calm down. He’s _loud_.

It’s Dean... Of course, it’s Dean. Wow, there’s a splotchy red on his hands as well. Is that the cherry pie or just me? Have I ruined the pie as well... Oh, I liked the cherry ones. I believe it’s just the blood, nothing more. Good then. The pie is saved.

I should apologize to Dean. Tell him it was an accident. And he should stop shouting right in my face perhaps.

I’m finding that keeping your eyes open is a rather toilsome chore. Huh. Who knew..

“CAS!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summarized: Cas goes to attend Meg’s birthday party where her drunk boyfriend touches him inappropriately in Meg’s absence. It’s implied that he gets in shock at the time and Meg intervenes immediately. Later she sends him home but stays to deal with and break up with the guy. He’s angry about the fact that in trying to ‘save’ him, she didn’t give him a chance to stand up for himself. He’s spiraling because of his loss of agency and control. He turns to self-harming, because of his twisted theory that the pain will “center” or “ground” him. All of a sudden he hears the doorbell and accidentally falls on broken glass as a result of which a few shards pierce his wrist. In the end, it turns out to be Dean at his door with another one of his pies.


	4. "Black, Grey, and the in-betweens."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I don’t ask him why we’re headed to the bathroom upstairs...
> 
> And I stay quiet when he tells me to...
> 
> But I couldn’t control the small whimpers from escaping my throat, of course... I didn’t know what was going on. It was only natural, the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Past. 
> 
> Please take note of the updated tags. Refer to the end-note for the Warnings.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Pink

Mother doesn’t like noisy children... which is why she has never been a fan of our school events. She likes quiet mornings, hot chamomile tea, and me. Sitting across from her, eating quietly, smiling politely and mostly staying mum. Most people wouldn’t even notice my presence at a single glance. Mother’s encouraging smile when I show her the test results is usually enough to make my mornings. It makes me feel like Mother loves me as much as Mrs. Kline loves Jack. So what if Mrs. Kline never misses out on the school events.. It’s just that Mother likes the quiet.

This is the reason why Mother doesn’t like Gabe very much.

He’s everything Mother despises. He’s loud – both in his voice and his clothes. He has a rather... peculiar taste in colors for a 13 year old. He doesn’t get ‘good enough’ grades in Mother’s opinion, although I personally think his scores are pretty decent for the constant ruckus he causes at the school – even though I am 5 years his junior, his ‘tricks’ are well known in my grade as well. Gabe does everything he’s specifically told not to. But the thing Mother detests the most about him is the slurping noises he’s currently making at the table. It has always been clear to everyone in our immediate vicinity that Mother draws the line at less-than-impeccable table manners. 

And, so it didn’t come as a surprise to me that Mother politely but disapprovingly took his breakfast away and ordered him upstairs. She does like to keep a tight rein on the household. But, Gabe being Gabe did the exact opposite and ran away... probably to Luke’s place. I strongly believe that Gabe planned on the slurping and knowingly tricked Mother into sending him away. He does enjoy riling her up.

Sometimes I feel like it’s not that Mother likes me... It’s just that she disapproves of Gabe so much that she’s relieved for having someone who’s not-Gabe.

***

In my quest for being not-Gabe and pleasing Mother, I am required to be present in today’s social gathering or ‘old-people-wingding’ as Gabe likes to call it. Mother doesn’t expect or rather want Gabe to attend because of the fruit-punch-affair of the last gathering, but I sincerely hope he stays and I am not the only human being under 35 – shaking hands, smiling at strangers or probably playing the piano. But alas, the lord does not wish for me to be happy. 

“You know, you don’t _have_ to be this bow-tie wearing church-going brainless elf. If you didn’t suck up to her so hard, you’d be a normal dude, li’l bro.”

“May I join you, then.. please?”

“Cassie, I am not taking you to the movies with me! You speak weird!” 

I realize that Gabe’s circle of friends does not really coincide with people like me and Jack and Alfie. So, I am not that offended. And even if it did, Mother would make sure that I don’t associate with the same people that Gabe does. She makes it a point to ensure that I am nothing like Gabe, and I endeavor to prove her right too… Which is why Mother is rather picky about the people I interact with...

Our new neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Masters are here too. They are quite pleasant people. Their daughter on the other hand... Intimidating. Even Mother’s cold stare doesn’t scare me this much as this little girl’s little smirk is, considering she is in pigtails. Still intimidating. Uncle Zach is a welcome change to this strange insolent creature.

So, I don’t ask him why we’re headed to the bathroom upstairs...

And I stay quiet when he tells me to...

But I couldn’t control the small whimpers from escaping my throat, of course... I didn’t know what was going on. It was only natural, the pain.

Then he tells me that Mother sent him.. That I’ve been an insolent little brat myself..

So, I take the pain, trying to be as quiet as possible, and failing. Uncle Zach pushes me down on the floor and leaves... which is okay, I guess.

You’re not supposed to disobey your elders. So, it’s obvious, his anger.

After all, Mother doesn’t like noisy children.

***

So, it turns out that I was right 3 years ago about Meg. She is quite intimidating. She is never the target of silly-names or paper-balls on the back of her head. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, the other kids kind of just leave her alone. And then one day, she comes to my table and sits down unprompted.. not that I could ask her to leave. And she’s stayed ever since. We go to school together, come back together, eat our lunches or rather my lunch together as she doesn’t bring hers, and even Jack and Alfie likes her ever since she beat up Marv for drawing a phallic structure on the back of my shirt.

I started escaping to her place, which is right across from ours, quite a while ago... which is what I did today too.

It’s my 11th, so I was expected to be on my best behavior on another one of Mother’s social gatherings and graciously accept all the wishes and smile politely and nod. But then Uncle Zach got me blue shorts and asked me to try them on in my room. So, I did. And later, ran to Meg’s place. Her fluffy comforter feels nice.. heavy.. like you can drown under it.. or hide.

We were about to doze off when there were noises all of a sudden. Of things breaking. People screaming. Oh lord, Mother is going to be furious! Who is crazy enough in our neighborhood to invite Mother’s wrath on a sunny Thursday afternoon. Is that Gabe’s high pitched swearing..?

Oh, what has he done, now..

When Meg and I enter the home, it’s to Gabe being slapped in front of everyone. Mother has never done that before. Yes, she doesn’t like him very much.. she makes it rather obvious by continuously pointing out how much of a disappointment he is to her at her frequent gatherings. Yes, she never holds back from verbally berating or disciplining us in the presence of an audience but she’s never raised her hand at either of us in front of other people. Not until today.

And, Gabe looks.. _angry_.

Of course, he’s always been angry about something or the other – for not getting to watch his favorite movies, for not getting his favorite flavor of slushies, for being told not to spill food on his clothes, for being gifted with anything beige, and the list goes on. But _this_ is not like that. This time, his words have no breezy tone laden with playful sarcasm.

He sounds furious and.. bitter. 

It was much later when I saw the broken desk in my room that I realized a fight broke out in here. I believe it was between two rival gangs but the people at the party say it was Gabe and Uncle Zach. Perhaps Mother’s indignation and slap was because of the desk... or maybe because Gabe was being rather loud. And Mother doesn’t quite like such a racket in the house.

Oh well, whatever may have happened, I believe it was Gabe who won the fight because Uncle Zach never came back anymore.

***

Gabe is on another one of his tirades today. Honestly speaking, I have always (silently) found it pretty amusing when he and Mother fight. I am aware of the potential ear-damage it might cause in the near future but it is too thrilling to miss. However, he sounds... weird again. The last time he sounded this furious was 2 years ago.

It feels like that day again. I think Gabe hasn’t forgotten about the fight as well. He’s still shouting about Uncle Zach and asking Mother to let him take me somewhere. I think I’d like to go with Gabe. He makes me those sweet candy things sometimes when Mother isn’t home. She doesn’t seem too thrilled at his suggestion though.

Well, he’s 18 now and he always said he’s going to run away as soon as he’s able to from this shi..crap-hole. He also told me that he’s saved some money from his job at the ice-cream parlor. He always sounded so hopeful when he talked about leaving...

I don’t want him to leave though.

***

I haven’t spoken to Gabe in 4 years now. Mother keeps a rather strict watch, which is not surprising, really. She thinks I’ll become another him. She thinks I’ll start a rebellion too. She thinks I’ll start having doubts... So, she’s determined to make me forget about my own brother over time. And she makes me cut ties with Meg too in the fear that I might become sexually active.

It’s hilarious, really. It feels like she doesn’t understand the concept of teenage. In the childhood, I thought it was my clever tactics that Mother never caught on to me sneaking out of the house to go to Meg’s. But, Mother is just dense about the things going on under her own roof. Always has been.

So, she doesn’t notice the midnight escapes, she doesn’t notice the doubts, she doesn’t notice when Bal, the new exchange student, starts coming over a lot more.. And she certainly doesn’t notice her 16 year old son’s crumpled clothes or disheveled hair.

Or perhaps she just doesn’t care...

I don’t really welcome this new capability of thinking on my own.. This responsibility to make choices, decisions.. Just makes me more anxious. And on top of it, Bal is always there to encourage me to,

“Take some risks, Cassie! Live a little.”

“Wanna drive to the next town, or beyond? We’ll go see your big bro, if you wanna..”

“Just one sniff, sweetheart!”

“Oh yeah, just like that. Bit deeper sweety, you can take it. Oh _yes._ ”

“How about I send him a friend request and it’s you who speak and Mommy doesn’t need to know a thing. Whatcha say?”

“Turn over, sweety.”

The time I’ve spent with Bal has been quite exhilarating. He’s fun. He’s a free being in every sense of the word. Although he kind of bullied me the first day we met in school, but he said it was flirting and then I blushed. It was embarrassing, really. And yes, there have been instances where his rather laissez-faire approach to anything and everything under the sun has rendered me uncomfortable at times, but he says I’m a “newbie” in these things and it’s natural, so it’s all good.

I think I can do this for a while.

***

So, it turns out I couldn’t do it for a while.

Meg was always furious about the location of my college since she couldn’t drop in any time she wanted anymore. It was freeing for me too. Staying away. At least for a little bit. I wasn’t alone actually... Though after a point of time, it did feel like I was alone in a whole city of strangers.

It’s not like it came as a surprise. Bal has been always been a rather enthusiastic and experimental guy. These were the traits actually that piqued my interest in the beginning. But then things just multiplied. The quirks became the whole personality. Parties turned into after-parties turned into staying the night. Experiments turned into Cheating.

And I was still ready to be the utterly dumb accommodating boyfriend..

Until he invited his _friend_ into our bed... while I was in it. Asleep.

And all this while he himself was lying on the couch drunk out of his mind..

So I channeled my inner Meg and kicked the guy, who was halfway into stripping me out of my sweats, straight in his groin. The guy liked the _fight_ apparently.. Well, howsoever long it took, I am out now. I have Gabe’s number, although I never had the guts to reach him before.. Perhaps I was just being a salty teen about being left behind. 

I think I can finally talk to him after 7 years.

***

Living with Gabe these few years have been arguably the best time of my life because of the sole reason that I finally know the names of all these fancy containers.

“You can’t just keep calling them big saucepan and small saucepan and biggest saucepan, Cassie! Your Brother owns a fucking Bakery. Educate yourself.”

Okay, so these few years have been a bit violent as well. And unsanitary. I have woken up with flour on my clothes, in my hair, under my chin, even under my armpits for enough times that I finally understood these were no ‘accidents’ and I eventually took my anger out on an innocent cupcake, for which I profusely apologized after. Gabe is a bit touchy about his ‘Sweet Heaven’ but who names their shops after a Barry Manilow song anyway. Well, in his defense, he was just starting to go out with Kali when he decided on the name.. It’s still terrible, though.

Gabe still puts up with my constant complaining probably because of his misplaced guilt. Well, he was rather apologetic about leaving me in the shi..crap-hole and moving on in his life. He says he never forgot about me. I don’t exactly hold it against him. He had the chance to flee so he did. Other than that, on the personal front, I have also learned a few basic cooking skills,

“So that you don’t starve to death in here while I’m out having the best fuck of my life.”

“Gross, Gabe. You’re gross.”

“You’re gross.”

“Wow.”

“Shut up and go pick your phone up. It’s been ringing for 2 fucking hours.” 

***

“What, are we supposed to mourn the old hag now?”

“Don’t be so insensitive, Gabe. Please?”

“You know this could be a trick.. Naomi could be alive and well on the other line, making her minions call us, and then we fall right into her trap and then she’ll sell both our kidneys.”

“She’s not you, Gabe. She neither had the mental capacity nor the patience to plan such an elaborate scheme. Can you put on your seat-belt now, please? We are still at least 3 hours away.”

“Yeah, but consider this, baby bro.. Why call us then? Is there a will? And even if there is one, why would it mention us mere mortals.. Me, the black sheep, the rebel, the revolutionary and You, the gay one. It makes no sense.”

“Gabe, can you focus on the road instead of disparaging the memory of our dead mother, perhaps?”

“Cassie, I’m telling you, that woman removed all traces of my DNA from that house as soon as I left.”

“Gabe..”

“Whu..”

“GABE, LOOK OUT!!” 

***

“Clarence, you can’t stay there anymore, okay. I’ve got the papers ready.. you just need to sign them and it’s all sorted out. Come on..”

.

“Clarence, the Shop.. What do you want to do with it?... It’s okay. I’ll see. I’ll handle it.”

.

“The will thing is dealt with. Insurance and the Shop, I’ll handle. Then we’ll move next week, okay? New place. New job. New beginning. It's gonna be fine. Come on!”

.

“Okay, Clarence...?”

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Past Child Sexual Abuse, Referenced Attempted Non-Con, Minor Character Death.


End file.
